A Sticky Situation
by disco-chic
Summary: Ever wonder how the peanut butter got in the bed? A few very minor changes as of 12-27. C/A


_**A/N:**__ So . . . how did the peanut butter get there? HEY - you know who you are - this is labeled M . . . you don't like it, then don't read it! I shouldn't have to censor my work for you.  
_

_Apologies to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Fox/ W/B. These aren't my characters, and I don't expect anything from their use._

"Angel?"

No answer. She looked expectantly at the door. _Maybe he's busy with his hair_.

"Angel?"

Cordelia shifted the armload of clothes she was holding. _But, he can't see himself – and it's six o'clock in the morning . . . well after bedtime. What's the use in messing with his hair when he's just gonna sleep on it and have to re-do it all later? _

She knew he could hear her. She just _knew_ it. _Hey, buddy, I will not be ignored!_

"Angel!" she screamed.

Seconds later, Angel hurried into his bedroom wearing his robe and boxer shorts. "What? Is everything OK?" he ventured breathlessly, fully expecting her to be in the midst of something emergent. He saw Cordelia standing next to his closet, and he took in her arms laden with clothes. Then, his jaw dropped as he surveyed his room. It looked like a boutique had vomited shoes, scarves, costume jewelry, perfumes, and who knows what else over his bed and floor and furniture.

"Hey, you! So, I was wondering, which side of the closet do you want?" Cordelia asked him.

Angel was still trying to process the clutter in his room when Cordelia cleared her throat. "Hey, _HEY_!" she said snarkily, "my arms feel like they're about to break off here."

Still in a state of shock, Angel said quietly, "Um, just whichever you want."

"Great!" Cordelia smiled broadly, pushed Angel's clothes to either side of the closet, and she began arranging her clothes in between. She grunted as she tried to fit everything onto the rack, but there just wasn't enough room. She promptly began taking his clothes out to make room for her own. "Y'know, Angel, you have a really tiny closet," she remarked, pushing with her hands, trying to move the tightly packed hangers.

"What?" he turned his focus back to her.

"Closet? Tiny? Yours? Oh, never mind," she sighed as she draped the clothes she just took out of the closet – _his_ clothes, he finally noticed – over her left arm. "I'll just hang up important stuff. Do you have an extra drawer?" she asked as she started to open his dresser drawers one by one, the first one being where he kept his unmentionables . . .

Quickly, Angel crossed to her and closed the drawer. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Cordelia," he said quietly, "you are welcome to stay here. But, this isn't permanent." He grabbed his clothing from her and crossed to his bed, folding it neatly.

Cordelia rolled her eyes at him, "I know, Angel. Like I'd share toothpaste with you forever on purpose?"

Ignoring her comment, Angel continued, "Are you sure that you've brought only your necessities?" He turned to the chest of drawers behind him and began putting his clothes away.

Shocked, Cordelia stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth gaping, "Well, DUH! What if I get a callback to a national commercial that would launch my career – or if a really cute casting director asks me out for a drink?" She approached him and lowered her voice, "What if _I_ get dirty and gross while out there demon-slaying with _you_?"

Angel snorted. "Yeah, like you'd be out there slaying demons with me." He turned to close the drawers, now packed tightly. He hated ironing.

"It could happen!"

"As long as I have front row tickets to that . . ." he murmured before he turned to face her again.

Cordelia couldn't make out his comment and resumed her speech, "I'd have to change, of course." She turned away from him and strode to his bed, where she picked up a handful of socks. "Besides, I don't want bug nastiness crawling all over my clothes," she said pointedly.

Angel tilted his head back as if asking the heavens, _'Why me?' _and ran his hand over his face and through his hair.

Cordelia continued, "Speaking of, we have _got_ to go shopping. Your taste is just so – austere. Time for a change, don't you think?"

He pivoted and faced her again, "A change? A change in what?"

"You know, your excuse-for-décor!" she exclaimed as she gestured to the entirety of his room, socks flying out of her hands.

"I like my," Angel gestures mirrored her own, "décor." He bent down to retrieve the socks off of his floor and deposited them on top of one of her suitcases.

"Oh, puhleeeeze," Cordelia began clearing things off of his bed. "Manic-depressives on leave from the military wouldn't like your décor." She appeared thoughtful, "I mean, you've got the knack for dress - would've figured you would be able to decorate."

He sighed, "Cordy, you're not changing my décor." He watched her grabbing and piling and moved to help her – hoping he could arrange the stacks so they wouldn't topple and make more of a mess than she had made.

She smiled sweetly at him as he took the jumbled shirts and leggings and who-knows-what from her, and she turned back to get another armload. "Well, I just thought that, since I might be here for a while, we both could be happy –"

He cut her off, gripping handfuls of frivolities that, to him, didn't seem to have any use, "Just how long are you planning on staying here?"

"Just a day or two."

Angel could handle that. She would be annoying, but if he could tackle demons, he could handle Cordelia. He looked at the mound of clothing in front of him. _Maybe_.

"Unless . . ." she said, her voice trailing off. Then, she was quiet.

He stared at her, willing her to finish that thought with his mind. When she didn't, he demanded, "Unless _what_?"

Cordelia glanced at him sideways and then looked down at her hands as fingered the edges of a pink Gucci scarf. "Unless I just can't find an affordable, safe place is all," she said seriously and looked up and into Angel's eyes. "Here, I feel safe, at least."

_Boy, she really knows how to lay on the guilt-trip_, he thought. "We won't think about that tonight. I'm sure you'll find something," he managed to crack a small smile at her.

"Thanks," she said and looked down at the scarf again. She picked it up and tossed it on the dresser, partially covering the odd trinkets she had crowded on top. "I think I'm going to get ready for bed. I've had a really hard night tonight," she said as she grabbed a tank top and shorts and sent one of Angel's neat piles tumbling over.

Trying to mask his frustration, Angel sighed. "Probably a good idea," he said.

"I mean," Cordelia said, "You should have seen the _size_ of them! Huge!" She slid the tank top over her shirt, drew her arms into her shirt, and pulled her shirt out the top of the tank top and over her head.

Embarrassed – and turned on in spite of himself, Angel cleared his throat, "Uh, Cordy, do you want some privacy?"

"Huh?" Cordelia seemed distracted. "Oh. Nah. Not necessary. I'm a former cheerleader - an expert at changing my clothes in public areas. Anyway, it's just you," she said as she unhooked her bra and slipped the straps off her arms.

A little insulted, Angel retorted, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Duh, your dorkiness," Cordelia rolled her eyes as she pulled the bra through and tossed it on the floor. "I know you don't see me that way."

Angel felt a flush trying to creep into his cheeks but knew it would never come. He turned around, chastising himself for wanting to look. She was right: he shouldn't be looking at her like that . . . she was _hot_ . . . but he shouldn't be looking at her like that . . . but she was . . .

"You OK?" she asked. Cordelia had caught Angel's troubled look as he turned. She took her pants off.

"What – huh?" her question dragged him back from his distraction. He heard her drop her heavy pants followed by something else – something light – on the floor. He didn't want to know. _Just keep telling yourself that . . ._

"You sound like," she was a bit puzzled, "I don't know. Nevermind."

Angel was silent as he kept his back turned, hearing the sound of material sliding over skin.

"OK!" she announced.

He didn't move.

"Um, hello? Decent now."

He glanced over his shoulder and saw her infectious smile. He couldn't help but smile in return.

"Y'know, I was thinking – maybe we could catch a movie tonight – you have cable, right?" she said excitedly.

"Actually, I –"

"Oooooh! I know! We could watch something from the 1940s! One of those classics!" her eyes got wide.

"Cordy –"

"Unless, of course, you'd rather watch one of those silent movies." A thought occurred to her, "You might even have known some of those actors personally! That would be ohmigod amazing!"

Trying to be patient, Angel responded, "Cordelia, it's late now. I had a busy night, and I have to go to bed. Anyway, don't you need your beauty rest?"

_What did he just say?_ Her eyes flashed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Not knowing exactly what was going through her mind, and sensing he was about to tread on some eggshells, Angel ventured, "What is what supposed to mean?"

"Are you _implying_ that I'm _ugly_ when I don't get enough sleep?" she crossed her arms.

Thinking about alternative meanings of _ugly_, Angel briefly wondered if _he_ would be able to sleep tonight. "No, Cordy," he fumbled. "You're not ugly. You're very pretty."

"Then why did you say what you said?" Cordelia asked suspiciously.

"Cordelia –"

"Really, Angel. I swear," she lifted her arms up and let them fall to her sides as she said, "it's like you don't even think about other people's feelings."

He shot her a look and began to move past Cordelia toward the couch. She grabbed his arm.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep on the couch," she stated. She jerked her head toward the bed and shrugged, "There's more than enough room for both of us."

His jaw dropped, and he responded, "I have to, Cordy."

"Why?" she was confused.

"It's inappropriate!"

"Why?"

"Cordy –"

"Why is it inappropriate?" she asked intently.

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Angel's exasperation grew.

"I mean, you are quite the dish, but, let's face it," she pointed at him, "dead." She pointed at herself, "Alive. Not into the whole necrophilia thing on my end."

He glared at her.

"AND," she went on, "you and I aren't in any kind of relationship because, y'know, you love Buffy, and I love Jude Law. I guess you COULD count the boss-employee kind of relationship – but I don't because then it would be unethical me even staying with you, and, anyway, you _are_ a friend of mine, and friends have sleepovers all the time. _And_ your bed is big enough for the both of us," she caught his look of panic. "_With_ pillows in between, since you're being a big wuss."

He looked at her blankly, not believing she was actually suggesting they share the same sleeping space.

"It's not like we're going to do anything. Just sleep," she said.

"Just sleep," he repeated.

"Besides, I don't want to push you out of your bed," she stated matter-of-factly. She grabbed his hands, "Come on. We'll sleep under-over." She pulled at him.

He resisted. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "Under-over?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes, "Uh, yeah, dorkus. I sleep under the covers, you sleep over the covers?" she let out a frustrated sigh. "I mean, did you really _think_ we'd cozy under together? How disgusting is that?" She pushed him away with a snort.

Momentarily offended, Angel stood frozen. He watched her softly pad over to his rather large, rather comfortable bed and turn to face him expectantly. Still not convinced this was a good idea, he followed her, but crossing to the other side, thinking he would get up soon and make his way to the couch.

Cordelia smiled and hopped into bed, snuggling down into the clean satin sheets. She sighed as she felt the softness caress her body and laid her head back on the pillows, drawing her hair out from under her back so that it billowed about her in waves. She closed her eyes and hummed softly, enjoying the evident difference between this mattress and the excuse-for-a-bed in her bug-ridden apartment.

Angel grimaced and slowly sat down on the bed. He hesitated before leaning back, still thinking this was a bad idea. But his bed was much more comfortable than the couch . . .

His suspicion was confirmed the minute his head hit his pillow.

Cordelia's eyes popped open. She sat up on her elbows. "Are you hungry?" she asked, turning to look at Angel.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"You mean, yes, you're sure you're not hungry or yes, you are actually hungry?"

Sighing and growling at the same time, Angel managed, "Cordelia –"

"I'm only asking because –"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh."

He waited for more. But she didn't continue. The silence was unexpected. And peaceful.

But not lasting.

"Well, I'm hungry," Cordelia announced matter-of-factly.

Angel didn't respond.

"But if you're not hungry, I guess I can wait," she said to him.

Angel turned away from her.

Cordelia sighed as she lay back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling while she fidgeted. Her feet jerked side to side under the covers. She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them and folded her hands on her stomach. She sighed loudly and closed her eyes. She turned over on her side. She flipped the pillow over and fluffed it with her fist. She hummed softly. She stretched. She sighed again.

"WHAT IS IT, CORDELIA?" his patience wearing thin.

"Oh, I didn't know you were up. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"How could you wake me up when I haven't gotten to sleep, yet?" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked as she turned toward him.

He turned to look at her, ready to tear into her and was stopped short. Her eyes, big and innocent and trusting and grateful, caused his ill temper to recede, "I said I hadn't fallen asleep yet."

She smiled. "Oh."

They stared at each other.

She whispered, "I'm feeling snacky."

Angel blinked.

Cordelia bit her lower lip.

He whispered, "Then, go make yourself a sandwich."

Cordelia smiled and whispered, "Ok." She scooted off the bed and headed toward the kitchen. Noise ensued almost as soon as she cleared the doorway. Moments later, he heard a crash.

"You OK in there?" he yelled.

"Yep. Just fine!" she called back.

Angel turned onto his back and closed his eyes, halfway relieved that she was out of the room, halfway apprehensive at what she was doing to his kitchen. The relief far outweighed his anxiety, though, and, as the minutes passed, he found himself relaxing, thinking he could get through the night. He even found himself drifting off to sleep.

"I'm baaaack!" Cordelia sang as she set down a steaming mug on the end table next to him.

His eyes flew open, and he saw her grinning over him. He let out an _oof!_ as she crawled over him, and she plopped down on the other side, crossing her legs. He almost didn't notice the jar of peanut butter in her hand.

"Couldn't find anything but your O pos in the fridge, so I had to raid my desk drawer. Only found peanut butter. At least it's creamy," she said as she unscrewed the lid.

Angel sniffed the air and sat up, "Did you cut yourself? I smell blood."

She laughed and laid a hand on the crook of his elbow, "No, silly. I just heated up some blood for you in case you changed your mind. Geez."

Touched by the gesture of hospitality, even though he wasn't really hungry, he looked at her thoughtfully and smiled. "Thank you, Cordelia." He lay down on his back again and closed his eyes.

She smiled back. "You're welcome." She dipped a long finger into the peanut butter and slid her pointer along the inside. "You really are a good guy, you know that?" she told him, rather than asked, as she licked the peanut butter off her finger.

"Thanks," he felt warm and fuzzy at the compliment.

"Well, as good as a vampire can get, I mean," she scraped the side of the jar and stuck her finger in her mouth, making a kissing sound as she sucked the peanut butter from her digit.

Angel's eyes opened, and he said, "What are you –" as he turned to watch her. He stifled a gasp as she scraped her digit with her teeth and sucked at the remaining spread.

"What?" Cordelia was confused at the look on his face.

Angel was confused at the arousal he was feeling.

She stuck her finger in again and proceeded to stick it in her mouth again.

He sat up quickly, putting more distance between himself and her. He said emphatically, "What are you doing?"

"Duh, Beavis, I'm eating peanut butter."

"Couldn't you at least get a spoon?"

"Well, I could, but your silverware drawer was stuck, and I had to pull REALLY hard to get it out and - you know, you need to get that fixed - but, anyway, it all landed on the floor. Besides, I won't have to wash anything this way," she said as she, again, sucked on her finger.

Angel couldn't help but be enraptured by the way her lips caressed her finger as it entered and left her mouth.

Mistaking his look for something else, Cordelia held her finger out to him with a big glob of creamy spread on the tip. "Want some?"

"What?" he recoiled from her. "No! I – hate peanut butter!" but he certainly wasn't hating it very much right now as he watched her hungrily - _STOP IT, DAMN IT!_

"Sure?"

"I'm sure!"

"'Cause you look like you want some," she withdrew her finger and brought it back toward her.

"Definitely not _peanut_ _butter_," if he could blush, he would be right now, he thought.

"You hate it that much, huh?" she thought he was getting a little worked up over this peanut butter thing. _If he's hungry, he's got that yucky blood sitting right next to him. What a weirdo!_

"I don't eat peanut butter. Ever," he said with finality, trying to avoid her gaze.

"OK, OK – I don't eat cauliflower. Tastes weird. Guess PB tastes kinda funny to you?" she yawned, and the glob shook loose from the tip of her finger, falling onto her naked thigh. "Oh, Hell!"

Angel had watched it fall. He stared dumbly as Cordelia reached down to wipe it off her leg using her palm – and he saw it smear on her inner thigh. _Oh, God . . ._

"Damn it, Cordelia!" he reached toward her.

"What?" she yawned again. "I'll clean it up! Don't be so Mr. OCD," she opened her leg wider to swing to the side and off the bed, but Angel leaned over and clamped a firm hand on her thigh before thinking, partially transferring the gooey stickiness onto his hand. Cordelia looked up at him, surprised by his action (and the sensation his hand left there.) Nearly panicking at the intimacy of his touch (and the unwanted feelings it invoked,) he held up his hand, showing her the mess.

"STOP MOVING!"

"Hey! Be careful with that hand, or you'll get peanut butter in the bed!" she yelled at him.

He pointed at her to stay put, "Don't move. _You'll_ get it all over the sheets!" he yelled over his shoulder as he rushed out to the bathroom.

"Fine," she sighed. Then, she yawned again. _What's his damage? I could do this myself. Geez - he's such a control-freak. _She sighed and waited for him to return._ He's taking forEVER. Maybe I'll just lie down for a bit._

In the bathroom, Angel washed his hands and threw icy cold water onto his face . . . although, with his normally cold body temp, it didn't do much good. He stared into his sink, trying to get a grip on the reality of the situation. _She is Cordelia. She is my receptionist. She is vulnerable. She is alone. She is in my bed. She trusts me. She is smokin'. She feels - STOP IT!_ Eventually, he resolved to walk back in with a wet towel for her – and to tell her that he thought he'd be more comfortable on the couch, after all.

He approached the doorway and saw her leaning back, asleep. Legs sprawled out beneath her, she stretched languidly in her sleep. He felt that fuzzy sensation trying to creep into his groin again as he watched her . . . _she said she was going to clean it up - maybe she already has_ . . . he wiped his face with the wet towel and headed for his couch.

_Oh, yeah. She has to go. The sooner, the better._


End file.
